Thunderbolt
by Dearlybeloved'93
Summary: *Warning: Hiatus will be active January 29th, 2013. See profile page for details. He was the son of New York city's most dangerous crime lord. She was the Capo's daughter.-Twilight set in The Godfather universe
1. Stricken

Edward Cullen's knuckles rapped against the wooden door of apartment 3B, the hollow sound filling the hallway. Save for the three people waiting outside the aforementioned apartment, the narrow, carpeted space was empty. Outside, rain showered down in the streets, the grey-opaque clouds blocking out any chance of sunshine. Seconds ticked by.

Sighing impatiently, he stared at the ceiling while his companions talked of trivial things. It was a typical day: Commands to give, reports to receive, illegal activities to operate, threats to silence, and partnerships to form. Today he was meeting with one of his father's most trusted of Capo's: Charles Swan.

With a click the door swung open.

"Edward," Charles greeted, with a bow of his head. "Eleazar, Stefano. Please, come in."

He opened the door wider for the small party, and after everyone was inside, shut and locked it. He followed them through hallway plastered with various pictures and into the living room. There, he offered the trio his best seats while he fetched them some wine.

Edward was the first to sit down. Bored out of his mind, he leaned back in the emerald armchair and curled his fingers, counting each row of embroidered thread he felt in the armrests of his seat. Meanwhile, Eleazar walked around the spacious room, examining the various knickknacks and pictures with interest as Stefano twirled his hat, mindlessly following him.

"Charles, who are these young ladies in the photographs?" asked Eleazar, peering interestedly at the several snapshots hanging near the entrance of the hallway. Meanwhile, Stefano sat down on the couch nearest Edward.

"Hmm? My wife and daughter," the Italian answered from the kitchen, somewhat gruffly. An outsider would think of this brusque response as ill-fitting, given the innocence of the question and peaceful atmosphere. If so, then it would have been obvious of the outsiders ignorance to the old ways, tainted so by the unrestrained liberations of America.

_America. _Edward scoffed to himself. _The land of the free. Where anything was possible. _

There was no denying it; his outlook on life had become the same texture and taste as a cantankerous, jaded old man's. And it only worsened as the months passed. In silence, he brooded over the strings that controlled his life, his fate, even his country. And what he saw was not promising.

In his life, he saw firsthand how the strings manipulated things so he would have no chance at a happily ever after, despite his wealth and position in the Family, for as much money was a useful tool, it could not buy him trust, from or towards the opposite sex. Money could not buy a lady's genuine understanding, patience, or sincerity.

In this country, he saw the strings held by the powerful men born into old money, American aristocracy. He watched with mild fascination as those strings ignored the plight of his people, and how that negligence had led to the corrosion of honor and free fall into crime.

He looked to the kitchen, where the tinkling of glasses leaving a cupboard could be heard.

_Although, there are exceptions._ he mused to himself. _After all, Charles retained his honor when he first arrived here, and look where it got him…_

As he thought this, the hardened Italian re-entered the room, four glasses and a bottle of wine on a tray in hand. He placed the tray carefully on the coffee table before them and began to pour a generous measure for each. He was oblivious to Edward studying him, like an amoeba underneath a microscope.

"_He saved my ass when I was a kid you know," Emmett told him as they drove past their old neighborhood._

"_How?" He thought back to the rough, weathered man talking to their father at his office two weeks ago. Frankly, he was at loss as to how Charles was even capable of walking around without a crew._

"_It was at that bakery on Tenth Street. Some idiot held it up one day and lucky me, I ended up being his hostage," Emmett said, chuckling at Edward's stunned expression._

"_So what happened?"_

"_So I have gun pointed to my head, and the guy demands the cashier that he give him all his money or I'd be worm chow." He pauses as he turns the wheel, a faraway look on his face as I slowly digest the information. But then he smiles._

"_Then, out of a nowhere, Charles comes up, and without even a warning, grabs the gun, and uses it to clock the thief in the face. He pulls me out of harm's way, someone gets Dad and a couple of soldiers, and all the while Charles is cool as an iceberg."_

"_Whoa."_

"_Yeah."_

Deep in thought, he was barely aware of Stefano handing him his glass, or of Eleazar joining them. When Charles at last took his seat in the second armchair, Edward shook himself out of his daydreams and re-focused his mind at the matter at hand. He looked again to Charles. With a slight tilting of his glass towards Edward in respect, Charles sipped his wine, and again Edward was mildly impressed. Charles was a Capo, older, old enough to be his father, with nearly as much experience to boot, and yet _he _was the one toasting respect to _him. _

_It was just the way things worked._ he supposed.

He sighed silently to himself, staring morosely at the dark red drink in his hand. This must have been the first time months he had felt anything other than boredom, and it was because of a fleeting fascination with a subordinate's life. Even to him that fact sounded pathetic. For the past year his life had become…stagnant. Nothing held appeal to him anymore, not his books, not his piano. Days blurred together in an endless stream of business arrangements and handshakes. There was no change.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Charles asked, back erect as he sat in the worn arm made eye contact with Eleazar and Stefano before answering.

"As you know Charles, Don Aro has become quite…hostile towards my father's business of late."Attentive as always, Charles leaned in closer. The mood in the atmosphere changed, brittle as a dead man's finger nails. Coldness slowly crept into Charles already solemn face, subtle, nearly as invisible as winter's first fog. It was times like this that Edward fully appreciated his father's judgment. One thing was certain; Charles, despite his age, would be more than fit for this job they had planned for him.

"And with James away in Venice, my father feels that an attack upon him is imminent," he continued. He sipped his wine casually, appreciating its sweet fragrance. Placing the glass on the table, he chose his words carefully.

"My father has always had a great respect for you. Countless times you have assisted him expertly and without error. It's why he had you in mind the instant James took off to track down this Victoria."

He leaned in closer. His eyes flickered to the portraits behind the Italian briefly before continuing.

"He knows you enjoy your solitude, the anonymity that you have garnished lately despite your status. But he now asks of you this favor, and I think you know what it is." He watched Charles, trying to gauge his response to his words.

Charles scrutinized the youngest Cullen boy carefully, face impassive and wooden. Seconds turned into minutes as he stroked his chin. If they were asking this of him two years ago, he would have said yes without a seconds thought.

But times had changed. It wasn't just _himself _he had to worry about anymore.

With this in mind, he finally asked, "I'm sure Carlisle is still as generous as ever?"

Edward nodded, eyes briefly going back to the photographs behind the Italian. Charles may have been a man of few words, but he loved his family, and he would do whatever it took to support and protect them, no matter how far away they were.

So, naturally, Edward read between the lines.

"Very much so, yes. Actually, he's requesting that you move into one of the houses on our mall for the duration of the job.

Charles eyes widened. "…It is that serious?"

"We're afraid so," Eleazar said.

Setting his glass on the table, Charles began badgering the Consigliere for more information, forgoing English in favor of Italian. As the minutes passed and Charles' indignation grew, Edward's melancholy returned.

Without asking, knowing the three were now too far engrossed in their conversation to notice, Edward rose from his seat and instead opted to examine the pictures on the wall, as Eleazar had. Each picture told a story, a snippet of an event in the Italian's life that held some sort of sentimental meaning; a day on the beach, dinner with friends…

Finally, he paused on a frayed black and white photograph carefully framed near the hallways entrance. Posing in front of a charming villa was Charles, when he was still a young man. His dark brown hair waved carelessly in the wind, but he didn't seem to notice. His left arm was wrapped around a petite young woman in a purple dress, shoulder length hair also waving from the wind. Both had twin expressions of adoration and love aimed at the small bundle the woman cradled in her arms.

_So this is Renee. And that must be their child._ Edward thought to himself. _This must have been taken not long before he left for the states. _He looked again to the bundle in Renee's arms, and to Renee herself.

Amidst his detached musings, Edward heard the metallic click of the front door as it was opened from the outside. His back stiffened, mind and body taut with concentration as he tried to listen. Smoothly, he casually reached into his holster, unlocking the safety on his pistol, edging closer towards the mouth of the hallway. As he listened, he heard all he needed to know; the muffled sound of shoes walking on carpet, the adjusting of a bag, a tired sigh, even the soft whish of fingers combing through hair.

As he prepared to step into the hallway, hand encasing the gun holster on his hip, he breathed through his nose deeply and silently. The rush of adrenalin was refreshing. It electrified his mind back to life. He almost wished that this moment would never end, but alas, he knew this would not be. It would play out the same as always: with violence and grim satisfaction. With a silent sigh, he stepped into the hallway to meet his foe.

"So then the arrangements are set," Stefano said, rising from his chair to stretch his rickety limbs. The two other men got up as well.

"Indeed," Eleazar replied. Charles nodded, still solemn as ever. Eleazar placed a reassuring hand on the seasoned Italians shoulder. As he did this, he wondered where the youngest Cullen boy had gone. Vaguely he recalled Edward getting up, but he had been too engrossed in outlining Charles temporary job to call him back, or pay attention to his wanderings.

"This job is a great honor, but I must inquire; will my daughter be safe? I do not want her dragged into this conflict with _Don Aro_," Charles said, saying the Cullen's arch-rivals name with undisguised contempt.

Stefano's brow arched in surprise. "Your daughter? I thought she was still in Sicily?"

Charles shook his head. "I brought her here after her mother passed."

"But that was over a year ago!"

He shrugged. "She enjoys her privacy, as do I. Our lives are not fodder for the gossips. She's a good girl." He turned back to Eleazar, who had already known of the Italian's situation.

"How soon will we have to move in?"

"The week after next, but any time beforehand is preferable," Eleazar replied absentmindedly. He had finally noticed Edward's silhouette in the hallway. The boy's stillness was alarming.

In the hallway, Edward was rooted to the spot. What he saw paralyzed his limbs and quite effectively, his normal thought process; stricken, as if, by a bolt of lightning. His hands dropped and dangled helplessly at his sides, pistol and all thoughts pertaining to using it forgotten, jaw slack and partially open. For what, or rather, who, that was in front of him was not a lone assassin, coming to make his bones, not a burglar, but a woman, a young woman to be exact.

She had yet to notice him. She was leaning against the hard wooden door, eyes closed tight from exhaustion, arms wrapped around a school textbook, which she hugged tightly against her chest.

She was lovely. An imbecile would know that.

A heart-shaped face. High cheek bones that complimented a small, cute, narrow nose. Pale pink plump lips that were set in a calm smile, the kind that graced a woman's face when no one was looking. A smile not born of pretenses or for show. He noted that her bottom lip was slightly bigger than her top, but it only added to her allure.

There was no other way to describe it; she looked…angelic.

It probably wasn't proper of him to do it, but the shock to his brain seemed to have also temporarily impaired his restraint. His eyes raked over her form hungrily. She was dressed in a school uniform; white, button-down long-sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up just below the elbow, grey skirt that stopped above her knees, and a navy blue wool stockings that matched the tie at the base of her beautiful neck. Below, shiny black dress shoes, slightly high-heeled, encased her dainty feet.

As his eyes traveled up her form, they caught the mahogany tresses of her waist-length hair, slightly curled at the ends. He took long whiff of the air between them; floral. With a hint of some sort of fruit. Strawberry perhaps? Swallowing hard, he imagined running his hands through her strands, then cradling the back of her head as he buried his nose at the crook of her neck, sucking gently on the soft, sensitive skin. An involuntary twitch of pleasure ran through him as he imagined what sounds she would make.

A startled gasp brought his attention back to her face, and he nearly had a heart attack. Wide, chocolate-brown doe-eyes, impossibly deep and full of knowledge, met his green, her delectable lips parted, as if to speak. Unthinkingly, he took another step closer to her, eager to hear her voice. Not once did he look away, and neither did she.

"So be it then," Charles agreed, holding his hand out first to Stefano, then Eleazar. He shook both with confidence and friendship, which they returned heartily. Charles eyes flicked to the clock hanging above the kitchen, and his eyes widened in shock.

"Something wrong, old friend?" Eleazar asked, concerned.

"..My daughter isn't back yet. It's unusual for her to be this late. Highly unusual." He needn't say more, as the Consigliere and Capo understood instantly the Italian's worry. If something were to happen to his daughter…

His worry was needless, however.

"I'm already home, papa," a young, feminine voice called out from the hallway. A wave of relief swept over the Italian's face. Immediately, Charles, with a brief 'excuse me', brushed passed his companions, meeting his daughter at the hallways entrance. Relieved, he embraced her, unaware of Edward silently passing by them to join his associates, who proceeded to pointedly stare at their young superior with question and curiosity. Edward ignored them, his eyes still trained on the girl.

"How long have you been here?" he asked Isabella, after releasing her.

"Just a couple of minutes. It was long day," she answered, cheeks still flushed in a gentle rosy hue.

"Ehh," Charles grunted in response. He turned back to Eleazar.

"…Would this weekend be soon enough for us to move in?" he asked.

"This weekend would be fine. Carlisle will be delighted," Eleazar answered. He turned his attention to the lovely girl before them, who was staring bemusedly at her father's guests.

"And this must be Isabella," he said with kindness. She smiled politely at him and walked forward. "A pleasure, I'm sure," he murmured, as he took her hand and kissed it with polite chasteness.

Beside him, Stefano mimicked Eleazar's actions, planting a quick peck to her delicate hand after him. She took it all in stride, a small smile playing on her lips as her father wrapped his arm around her shoulder in a subtly protective manner. But when Edward stepped forward to kiss her hand, her blush returned, and she went weak at her knees. Thankfully no one had noticed.

No one, except Edward.

A primal urge was ripping its way to the surface of his normally logical psyche, making his extremities go numb and his heartbeat accelerate until all he could distinguish in the suddenly hot, cramped room was the thick, rhythmic pounding of blood in his ears.


	2. Dazed

As they drove back to the mall, a sliver of sunshine peaked through the grey, tenebrous clouds, basking the grey skyscrapers and bedraggled streets in a luminescent glow. While the youngest Cullen brooded, the others casually conversed.

"How long do you think James will be absent?" Stefano asked, from the back seat.

"Six months at the most," answered Eleazar, from the wheel, without hesitation. "Four if he can cut Victoria off in Barcelona."

Stefano whistled softly, appreciating the effectiveness of The Don's most fanatical follower. Victoria would be lucky to be in one piece once James was done with her.

While it was common knowledge James was not in the country, the underlying cause for his abrupt departure was not. Besides the Cullen family's inner circle and Aro, Marcus, and Caius Volturi, no one had known how close Don Carlisle had come to meeting death a little over a week ago.

It had been a typical day. The Don was about to leave the office early when the phone rang. Normally, he would have let the infernal thing ring. Nine times out of ten a call around 6:00 P.M would be from his contacts in California, calling to discuss the movie operations he had begun cultivating. That afternoon, however, something was off.

Perhaps it was the icy chill breezing in from the open window, maybe even the still, eerie quiet of the normally busy hallways. Whatever the reason, Carlisle Cullen felt a stir of unease as he prepared to leave his comfortably furnished office, the incessant ringing of the phone reverberating off of the dark wood walls. Disregarding his pre-conceived notions, he walked around the hard wooden desk and answered the phone.

"La Forza Del Destino," he would later use to describe the moment.

On the other end of the line, Alistair Rocco, Carlisle's police informant, was frantic.

"My connections just got back to me, you were right, that stronzo _was_ planning something big," he hissed worriedly, straining to keep his voice down in the undoubtedly crowded police squad room, "whatever you do, do not go outside. I've already informed Emmett and Edward, friends are on the way."

The rest, they say, was history.

"I'm surprised she's been able to make it all the way to Spain, to be honest," Eleazar remarked, offhandedly.

"Yeah, she is a pistol, that's for sure. What do you think Edward?" Stefano turned to his young superior, only to be greeted by silence. "Edward?"

Stefano shouldn't have bothered. Edward was too deep in thought about what had transpired this afternoon.

She snapped out of the trancelike state she had been in as he inched closer to her, pressing herself more firmly against the door, as though she could somehow melt into the wood. In her nervousness, her textbook slipped out of her palms. He caught it with ease, placing it on the side table to his right. Soon, he was before her, her breasts brushing gently against his chest, the crown of her head coming up to his chin.

In the darkness, their breaths, hot and rapid, mingled as one. Her scent overwhelmed his senses; strawberries and freesias. He swallowed thickly, his adams apple bobbing up, then down slowly. She bit her lip in trepidation, the innocent action drawing his eyes.

He noticed, noticed for the first time the way she looked at him, how her eyes seemed to mirror his own; hooded and penetrating and full to the brim with what he knew was lust. All at once the hallway seemed to heat up, his tie and suit feeling horribly tighter than before.

….But there was something beneath the surface. It hid behind the lust, like a shadow. It took him a couple more seconds, but then he had it; restraint. Subtle, yet effective in hindering her desire, and born out of innocence, he knew.

She was Eve, before she had taken a bite out of the apple, Eve, who like all innocent creatures wondered what lay in the forbidden, in the untouchable section of the forest…and despite its taboo nature desired it, yearned for it with such a burning passion it consumed them, until…

He _had_ to touch her now, her creamy, porcelain skin, looking oh so soft even in the dim light. It was no longer a deep, deep wish, but a need, an aching need that would not go away until he accomplished it. As if of its own accord, his hand slowly rose to her face, ghosting over her cheek. Inches from her skin, a strange sensation began to tingle through his fingertips, hot and electric. To his growing excitement, he could feel the heat radiating from her skin, basking his hand in delicious warmth.

Yet, it did not complete its journey. In the back of his mind, the normally dominant gentlemen screamed at him, urging him to back away. Lust driven and impatient, his newly born half wrestled for control.

And then, just as time seemed to stop, it had restarted, in the blink of an eye with the uttering of one simple statement:

"My daughter isn't back yet. It's unusual for her to be this late, _highly unusual_."

Immediately he remembered where he was and who he was with. He clenched his fist slowly, then let it drop. He stepped to the side.

"Your father's waiting," he whispered, at her questioning stare.

She blinked.

"…I'm already home, papa," she called out, as she walked forward.

God, her voice. It was gentle and beautiful, like an angels hymn. Already he could feel his knees and resolve going weak.

"Hey? Helllooo? Edward!" He snapped out of his daydream. Quite annoyed, he ripped his eyes away from the window and snapped, "WHAT?" Stefano jumped, not expecting his anger.

"…I-I was just wondering, if you think Charles will be a decent temp until James gets back," Stefano said timidly, still cowering over the outburst.

"Oh." He paused.

"….I'm sure he'll be more than adequate. After all, he's second only to James when it comes to devotion to The Don," he answered, absentmindedly. He turned back to the window.

The car was silent the rest of the way, the confusion felt by his associates permeating the small, enclosed space. When they arrived back at the mall, Jasper was waiting for them, calm as ever.

"Where's dad?" Edward asked, as they entered the threshold.

"Discussing business with Lorenzo. Don't worry he'll be joining us shortly," he said. Together they walked side by side deeper into the main hallway, Eleazar and Stefano following closely behind.

"So how did it go?" he asked, as they walked into the living room.

"Just as he suspected. Charles is more than willing, so no problems there," Edward said. They took off their business jackets, hanging them on the coat rack by the door, and gathered around the oval shaped coffee table.

"That's an understatement," laughed Stefano, as he plopped down on the couch. "Guy's delighted….happier than a fish in water."

Jasper nodded in approval. He sat down, the rest following, loosening their ties. Opening his briefcase, Jasper took out his notes.

"If everything goes as planned, then Aro should be out of our hair in a matter of months. His….resignation will open the door for more business, as I'm sure you all know." He smirked at their collective grins. "We'll be meeting with William Black in three weeks, to solidify our alliance."

There was a grumble of reluctance at this news. While they had a truce with Black, the decade-old animosity between their families was still going strong. It was unlikely that it would ever fade, despite their common enemy.

"What about the Denali's?" asked Edward.

Jasper shook his head. "The Don isn't sure about including them in on the plan yet-"

"Christ, Jasper, you're going to be our brother-in-law in less than a fortnight. It's about time you called him Carlisle, or better yet, Pop," said a voice from the hallway. Their eyes went to the hallway, where Emmet's hulking form greeted them, leaning lazily against the door post. He strode forward, taking a seat next to his brother.

The Don's eldest son, Emmet, was a massively built giant, with brown curly hair, capable of crushing a man's wind pipe with one simple squeeze of his hand. But underneath the brute strength, fiery temper, and cunning was a gentle soul, compassionate and loving. Only a key few knew this side of him existed, and he intended to keep it that way.

"Vasilii's being difficult, as always…damn Russian has no patience…like a child…" Emmett muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Precisely why The Don—" Emmett stared at Jasper pointedly, "oh fine, _Carlisle,"_ Emmett nodded in approval, "is still hesitant about including them." Everyone was silent at Jaspers admittance. They all knew what Carlisle thought of the Denali's choice of…business. While the Cullen and Quileute's affairs were in no way innocent, Vasilii Denali's was somewhere on a different level, second only, well, to Aro Volturi's.

Just the thought of how Aro made his earnings was enough to make any of them swallow bile. Their business was in no terms innocent, but there was always a line, even amongst criminals. Aro had crossed that line time and time again, but this time…this time he had obliterated it.

It simply would not do.

"Well, whatever our ill-feelings towards them, it doesn't change the fact that having the Denali's on our side will help us tremendously when everything goes down," Eleazar said.

"Indeed."

For the second time, the small party turned their gazes back to the hallway, where the Don himself stood. With the face of an angel and an air of authority that would make a king bow down to him, he was a formidable presence.

"I see you've already briefed everyone," he said to Jasper, strolling over to where they were all sitting. "Excellent."

* * *

Saturday saw the arrival of the Swan's...and another test in Edward's control. The mall was a gated collection of suburban homes on Staten island, all owned by The Don through his olive oil business. Several of the homes were used to house button men during war time, but a few were reserved for The Don and his family.

In the family house, Edward brooded in the dark, his hands strumming absentmindedly over his beloved piano. He had heard the arrival of the cars, knew that they had arrived, yet did not move from where he was. Again their first meeting replayed in his mind, but this time, not with lust or desire. No, time had corroded the blanket of fantasy that had previously shrouded it.

Confusion, fear, and horror infected and tainted the precious memory, making him wish he could wash his brain out with bleach and lighter fluid. He was not a monster, not a lecherous beast, and yet the way he reacted to her… He shuddered at the memory. He had nearly lost control, like an animal. The very thought put a bitter taste in his mouth.

No one had ever affected him like this before. Sure, he was by all means not a saint, but he was a gentleman. It's what he was raised to be. And yet one encounter had effortlessly obliterated twenty-three years worth of teachings from his family. What she must think of him….despair made his fingers freeze. He removed his hands, turning his body away from the keys.

Outside, Alice Cullen chattered away to a superbly overwhelmed Bella Swan, the pixies outgoing nature making up for her petite stature by ten-fold. A force to be reckoned with, with her short, dark bobbed hair and fire-cracker charm, even the normally timid Bella was falling under her spell.

"So, how long will you be staying here?" Alice asked, as they both watched the various men bring the Swan's few possessions into the house across from their own.

"I don't know. A couple of months, I think," Bella answered, uncertain. She turned around, examining the mall with interest. "At least, that's the gist I got from my father," she trailed off.

"Gist?"

"He's always vague when it comes to something work-related."

"Yeah, same here."

The two young women gave each other knowing looks. Alice had come to terms with her father's…..choice of employment a long time ago, at age 12, to be exact, when she had begun reading the newspapers. Bella, on the other hand, had grown up in Sicily, where Omerta was a way of life. They were not clueless airhead's, they knew what Carlisle's "business" entailed. After all, the mafia originated in Italy, did it not?

"So, you're coming to the wedding, right?" Alice asked, changing the subject. Bella smiled.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," she said. Alice grinned in response. The two stood side by side in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the movers, before Alice spoke again.

"It must have been something big," she said, referring to their previous discussion topic. "My brother's and father, I've never seen them this way before."

"Yes, I see what you mean," Bella nodded, "just last week I came home and walked in while my father was having a screaming match over the phone in Italian. I'd never even heard him raise his voice before."

"Exactly! And Emmett and father have been so serious lately. Edward, well, he's always been the serious one, but come to think of it, he's been acting quite peculiar the past couple of days," Alice remarked, tilting her head to the side slightly. Wrapped up in her thoughts, she took no notice of Bella's sudden interest in the fern bush in front of them.

"I mean, I know he broods, but I've been finding him zoned out in the weirdest places; in the hallway, at his piano…. always in the dark." As she rambled, a gentle blush bloomed across Bella's cheeks.

Inside, Eleazar leaned against Carlisle's desk in shock, his epiphany frying his mind into a mind-numbing stupor.

"My god, I understand," Eleazar whispered, awestruck. They—himself, Edward, and Stefano— were in the study, waiting for Carlisle. Edward ignored his utterance, his eyes fixed on a certain dark-haired beauty outside, beyond the glass, talking to his sister. Stefano, on the other hand, was reeled in hook, line, and sinker.

"What are you talking about?" he asked quietly, confused, joining him by the desk.

"Edward." Eleazar inclined his head towards the transfixed young man by the window for Stefano's benefit. "I can't believe I didn't see it before. The signs were all there, and he was alone in that hallway with her for more than five minutes without making a sound…."

"Get to the point," Stefano snapped.

"Don't you see?" Eleazar said, his voice rising slightly in his excitement, "Think Stefano, when did his odd behavior start?" Stefano racked his brain.

"Wednesday, right? That afternoon we gave Charles the proposition," he said, finally.

"Exactly. And who did he meet for the first time that day?" Eleazar asked, aggravated by his associates slow brain activity.

"What are you talking about, Edward already knew Charles-" Stefano froze, realization finally sinking in. He turned swiftly, meeting Eleazar's serious gaze, then back to Edward, still lost in thought. He looked back to Eleazar.

"No," Stefano said. Eleazar gave him a look that said the opposite.

"Yes."

Stefano's eyes went back to Edward, amazed.

"…But…how? This isn't—"

"What the hell are you two talking about? Edward finally asked, tearing his eyes away from the window to glare at them.

"You heard every word?" Eleazar asked.

"Naturally."

He walked over to them, hands clenched inside of his jacket pockets. Eleazar nodded, not the least bit surprised in Edward's heightened hearing. Smiling slightly, and both hands in his pockets, he walked past him to the window, coming to a stop inches from the polished glass panes. "It seems you've been stricken by the thunderbolt," he said, as he watched Alice Cullen talk to Bella Swan.

"The what?" Edward asked.

Before he could answer, the door burst open as Carlisle, Emmett, and Jasper entered the room.

"So, the way I see it, I won the b—" Emmett stopped talking, sensing the tension in the air. They looked first to Eleazar, who's back was still to them, then Edward and Stefano. All three recognized the youngest Cullen's stiff demeanor, his balled fists a dead giveaway.

"…Everything alright?" Carlisle asked, eying his youngest son's tense stance wearily. Behind him, Emmett and Jasper watched the scene unfolding in front of them with mild interest. Both were well acquainted with Edward's annoyingly stoic tendencies.

Stefano chuckled, moving to Edward's side. "Everything's fine. Eddie-boy here," he slung his arm over the young man's shoulder jovially, "has been hit by the thunderbolt."

The Don's eyes widened in shock. He looked to Eleazar, searching for confirmation. With a grin, the Consigliere gave it with a nod of his head.

"I hate to interrupt this academy award winning moment in dramatics, but can someone please tell us what's going on? What the hell is a thunderbolt? Emmett asked, looking from his father to Eleazar in annoyance. Jasper nodded in agreement.

Eleazar moved away from the window and took a cigarette out of his front pocket, placing it in his mouth. He swiped the silver lighter off of the desk top and lit the paper, casually leaning against the polished oak as he did so. As the room slowly filled with the bitter scent of smoke, he finally elaborated:

"In Sicily, when a man has a powerful, almost dangerous longing for a particular woman, they call it the thunderbolt. It's quite rare. Most men go their whole lives without ever experiencing a thunderbolt, and the few who do, well, that's it for them. It only happens once." He let the information sink into the atmosphere as he took another puff of his cigarette.

"…..Right," Edward scoffed, rolling his eyes, after several seconds. "Are we done with the wives-tales?"

Eleazar smiled, amused by the youngest Cullen's disbelief. "You don't—"

"Of course not. Really, Eleazar? I never pegged you as a romantic…"

Carlisle chuckled, drawing his son's gaze. "You believe this?" Edward asked him, surprised.

"I've seen it happen before." He walked over to where Edward was standing, and placed a hand affectionately on his shoulder. "Since the first time you met her, how often has she dominated your thoughts?" he asked, gently.

Silence.

Later, after Edward had left with Stefano, Carlisle asked Eleazar the question:

"When did he meet her?"

"Wednesday. She arrived home in the middle of the proposition."

Eyes lighting up in recognition, The Don smiled, nodding his head in approval.

"La Forza Del Destino," he whispered to himself.


	3. Pulse

I could go on and on about writer's block and Resent and the new developments in RL, but think you'd all rather just sit back and read. BUT I will apologize for the horrendously long wait. I won't be doing that again: setting a particular update date, especially seeing as how this story and my primary are WIPS.

Anyway...I own nothing written by Mario Puzo or Stephenie Meyer.

Small recap: Edward is a capo in the Cullen crime family, Bella is his father's bodyguard's daughter. He fell for her at first sight, as did she to him, and he's been angsting over it ever since. Meanwhile, Carlisle is planning a retaliation attempt on a rival family for their attempted assassination of him, and Edward's sister, Alice, is getting married.

My new years eve gift to you all...

* * *

To her father, she was his little bird.

To her female peers, she was referred to as, in a pleasant or jealous tone, it depended on who you were talking to, "that Cullen girl."

In the case of the male population, she was "Emmett and Edward Cullen's kid sister." And to her soon-to-be husband, Jasper Whitlock, she was simply "My Alice." But one word that had always been on the tip of everyone's tongue was not even a real name.

Clairvoyant.

And shockingly so.

It didn't matter if it was the weather, or the stock market, Alice Cullen always seemed to have a grasp on which way things would go. If she told her mother to take an umbrella with her on a sunny afternoon, Esme would do it, no questions asked. And when the rain inevitably arrived, she would smile to the sky, and whisper her daughter's name to herself knowingly.

If she had a poor feeling on a certain focus of investment of her father's, she would tell him, and Carlisle would demand his people to double check the place of interest's numbers. It didn't surprise him anymore when his people got back to him, flabbergasted by their discovery.

So, when Alice insisted on a May wedding, her family took it in stride and made the arrangements, despite the Weather Man's promise that the April showers would continue well into the next month. Needless to say, May sixteenth was as sunny and warm as anyone could have hoped for in a wedding, and no one in the family was surprised.

Inside the gated confines of the Don's mall, caterers and assistants hurriedly zipped about, organizing everything from the seating plan to the food. The sun burned exuberantly, as gentle breezes caressed the pale pink petals artistically strewn across the surface of the tables. Guests arrived by the dozens as time ticked closer to the ceremony. They chattered excitedly as they took their seats, some in Italian, others in English, a few in French, all admiring the quiet, yet majestic splendor of the Don's property and the exquisite craft of the arrangements. However, one such group had no jubilant smiles plastered on their faces, no excited aura rolling off of them like the others.

In the third row, Gustav Boccio dabbed his forehead with an embroidered handkerchief from his breast pocket. He breathed deeply through his nose, trying to calm his racing heart.

In the fifth row, nearest the aisle, George Gerandy tapped his foot impatiently, turning his head every twenty seconds to scowl at the entrance of the backyard door where the bride was supposed to appear. He folded his arms and gritted his teeth.

In the front row, Joseph Suarez sat as calm as he could, right hand playing with the white Rosary his mother had given him this morning for good luck.

Others more or less took either Boccio or Gerandy's lead, sitting rigid in their seats or fidgeting nervously with their ties or suits in the bright May sun, either thinly-disguised grimaces set across their faces or set wooden scowls.

As the groom and his best man finally took their places, a well-repeated saying rang synonymous in the grim party's minds, a saying so revered and timeless it had become, for these unfortunate few, something akin to a prayer. An archaic promise, that if they played their cards right, would prove to be their salvation and their enemies condemnation.

The commanding arrival of the Wagner's march finally rang true, and as the bride and her father began their walk, the phrase danced on every member of the anxious congregation's lips, though never uttered aloud:

No Sicilian could refuse a request on his daughter's wedding day.

* * *

The Don was not pleased.

Lounging in his black leather chair, Carlisle drew Gerandy under his dark green gaze, unimpressed. Before him stood a petulant child in grown-up pants and shirt. He turned his nose up in distaste. A true American trust fund baby; white blond hair slicked back in the timeless aristocratic style, soft, delicate hands that had never so much as touched a shovel, and a sense of entitlement that radiated from his very stance.

He kept himself from smirking with amusement. This man, no, this _boy_ had waltzed into his office once the reception had begun and went right to business, as though The Don himself were the groveling client. Needless to say, he felt a little more than affronted by the boy's nerve. Out right insulted by his offer. Any normal day he would have cast the insolent brat away, and at the present, he was considering doing just that.

"Sit down," Carlisle ordered softly, interrupting Gerandy before he could go into another tirade, eyes glinting with cold fury. Taken aback, Gerandy complied, sinking into the chair in front of the Don's desk.

"You will show respect in my home George, or I will cast you out without so much as a blink." The Don leaned back in his leather chair, stroking his chin. He began to speak in a grave voice.

"You come here, on the day of my daughter's wedding, eager and expectant, wanting my service without so much as an offer of your personal friendship. Instead, you offer money. You wave it under my nose, like how one waves a piece of meat under a dog's snout. Money, no less, that isn't even yours to give away." He got up and walked to the window on his left, hands behind his back. Near the door, Edward watched silently, noting with relish the foolish boy's shame. Eleazar shook his head with amusement as he lounged on the couch, cigarette in his mouth.

"Give me a reason, other than the fact that your father is a dear close friend of mine, why I should help you."

A bead of sweat trailed down George's right temple. He squirmed in his seat. Slowly he raised his head.

"Please…I will pay you anything. Whatever you want."

Carlisle sighed in discontent. He waved his hand in dismissal, and almost immediately, two thuggish brutes clad in prim, crisp dress suits appeared on each side of George and grabbed him by his arms, hoisting him up, intending to escort him out of the room and off the premises.

"Wait! Please!" he beseeched, wrenching himself out of their grasp. He lost his balance, ending up at Carlisle's heel. His hair in shambles, eyes wild with sudden desperation, he stared up at what he now saw as his potential savior. His last chance. And that realization finally humbled him. He knew now what words to appease him for his disrespectful behavior.

"My friendship," he said in a broken voice, answering the Don's question from before, the inside of his mouth dry as cotton. "I offer my friendship." His fingers gripped the carpet as he waited agonizingly for The Don's response. Unbeknownst to him, Carlisle smiled.

He turned around, meeting George Gerandy's petrified stare.

"Good," he said. He turned to Eleazar. "See to it that reliable people are given the task. People that won't get carried away."

The Don returned to his seat. Shakily, the boy rose, and like how his father told him to do, kissed the Don's hand, shakily murmuring a "thank you, Godfather" as his lips departed from the Don's knuckles. It was not until after their guest left that Edward finally spoke.

"He's lucky you hold Richard in such high regard."

"He is," Carlisle agreed. "At least he's not completely hopeless. He knows when to pay his respects…when properly reminded."

Edward smiled, in spite of himself. He walked to the window, hands in his pockets. He watched the dancing guests with disinterest.

"Who's next on the list?" Carlisle asked Eleazar.

"Boccio."

"Hmm. Send him in after the toast." He turned his attention back to Edward. "Go find Emmett. He should be here for this."

Reluctantly, Edward steered himself away from the window and exited the room, brushing by the bodyguards as he passed under the door post. The hallway was dark, the intricate molding of the doors barely visible to his eyes. He confidently strode forward, remembering where the turn was from memory as he fixed his tie.

As he reached the wooden bars of the banister his ears caught the excited chatter of the bridesmaids below, in the kitchen. He walked down the stairs, ignoring them and their lust-filled gazes as he walked past and out the backdoor, striding into the blinding light of the backyard.

The party was in full swing. Guests in various styles of elegant attire littered the backyard, lounging at their tables, or walking about, champagne in hand. Near the middle he could just barely make out the light wood of the dance floor, where Alice and Jasper were dancing jubilantly to the beat of the tarantella.

"Well if it isn't Edward Cullen," someone said behind him.

He froze, then slowly turned around. He immediately regretted his decision.

Before him stood a young woman in a dark red dress that instantly made him think of blood. Long, strawberry blond locks cascaded down her slim but nubile frame, while long lashes complimented startling powder blue eyes.

Her beauty was typical. Expected of her status; a princess amongst the kings and queens of the criminal underworld. Like George Gerandy, she was born into aristocracy, wielding power that was not hers to wield.

And she did it with no shame.

She sauntered over to Edward, ruby lips widening at the young man's discomfort and anxiety at her approach. When they were inches apart, she eyed him like a tigress eying her next meal, ravenous and predatory.

"You look well," she said, noting with glee his rigid stature and uncomfortable look in his eyes. "Lovely wedding."

He coughed slightly, before answering her with a brisk, "Thank you… and yes, it is."

She inched closer to him, one hand on her hip, casually, in a way that would make _Gilda_ proud. "You never called," she noted, sipping her wine, the iciness in her voice suddenly reflected in her blue eyes.

"There was nothing to talk about," he said curtly.

"It wouldn't have to be that way this time," she simpered, trailing one manicured nail down his chest. She was inches from his naval when his hand stopped her and calmly but firmly steered her hand back to her side.

"It's been three years. You know of all people that it was a...mistake. Now if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to with the best man." He made to leave, but she stopped him. Anger accentuated her lovely features, but Edward had long broken free from that spell. For all her sensual charm, he was attracted to her as dog was to a flea.

"You can't treat me this way," she huffed. "When your father hears about this—"

"My father could care less who I associated with during my free time, especially if said companion was as insignificant to me as I've implied," he cut her off coldly. Her eyes lit with unspoken outrage that for the briefest of second's, broke the mesmerizing beauty she carried with her like a second skin. And Edward was pleased. She was a superficial, vindictive brat who got away with anything and everything because of her father's title and her beautiful face. It was about time that her inner monster became reflected on the outside. He only hoped it would happen more often…

Content, he stepped past her, pausing to add, "You're delusional. You are not mine, and I will _never _be yours." And with that, he left her on the patio, alone and fuming.

…

Isabella watched with interest as Edward coolly stalked away from the woman in the red dress. He zigzagged through the dance floor, shuffling past numerous guests, until he finally made it to where Alice and Jasper were now slow dancing. When he turned her way, she bowed her head, her face heating with embarrassment. And desire.

Since that afternoon, she wondered about her sanity. His actions were far from innocent. And she should have been thoroughly disgusted. She should not have been captivated by his presence, or found it so…endearing to see him so close to falling off the precipice of control. Or find herself wondering during Mr. Banner's lectures if he still thought about her.

Yes. She must be insane.

She sipped her water, trying to stop herself from looking back up to watch him.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Unbeknownst to her, and currently the object of her affection, a couple, stricken by marital lust as a result of their now in-laws union, unleashed on each other an explosion of carnal desire in the form of desperate groping and declarations of love in a slurry of Italian and French.

Hidden inside one of the many guest rooms of the Don's estate, the eldest Cullen held his beloved wife in his embrace, one hand holding the small of her back, the other tangled in her long, golden blond locks. The sound of their lips, of soft skin rubbing and sliding over one another, filled the small room, their fight for dominance a battle of its own erotic caliber. Ignoring the bed, he instead pushed her up against the door.

So when she, with a light jump, wrapped her long legs around his middle, he smiled in their kiss and braced her against the dark oak, strong hands pushing up her lavender dress and grasping her soft, supple thighs.

He looked deep into her sapphire blue eyes as he pushed into her, the sharp gasp escaping her mouth nearly sending him into a frenzy. Stilling for a second, he planted a soft kiss on her already tender red lips, pulling almost completely out, before slamming into her once more, earning him a mewl of satisfaction. He began to set the pace, the creaking, rhythmic strain of the wooden door as it was repeatedly assaulted from the inside thankfully arising no unwanted attention.

Her legs tightened around him, immaculately manicured nails clawing his back. Spurned by the delicious pricks of pleasure pain, he pushed harder, eliciting her first of many moans. He nibbled her neck, continuing to growl sweet nothings into her flesh as she tangled her hand in his dark, curly hair, the other holding onto him for dear life.

Her thighs trembled as she let out a cry, him soon following with an ensuing yelp. Her head lolled to his shoulder, exhausted but sated, as he began to nuzzle the inside of her neck in their post-coital embrace. She giggled.

Inevitably, a certain brother of theirs walked by their door in frustration, still searching for said enraptured man.

The exhilarated pants Edward heard from behind the suspiciously closed first floor door immediately roused his attention. And revulsion. Staring at the wooden door in disbelief, he rapped his knuckle against it, hissing in an annoyed tone, "Emmett? You in there?"

Both flinched in surprise at the unwelcome intrusion.

"…Yeah," Emmett panted in response.

"Dad wants to see you. In his office. _Now."_

"Yeah…in a minute."

Rolling his eyes, Edward stalked away.

"..Damn," Emmett sighed.

"Oui_,"_ Rosalie agreed. _ "_Nous pouvons continuer sur ce soir," _We can continue later tonight, _she murmured against his neck. "une fois tout le monde est parti." _Once everyone's gone._

He chuckled, placing her carefully back on her feet.

"_Mi hai letto nella mente_," _You read my mind,_ he answered with a sultry smile.

* * *

"Are you sure?" Emmett asked his father, tie still undone as he stood before him with Edward in the dark study hours later, once the last client had left.

"I'm positive," Carlisle replied from his desk, fingers twirling a still-smoking cigar. "We've been infiltrated. There's no other explanation."

"But your schedule, anyone watching your office could have figured out your routine. What makes you think the information came from inside?"

"…It's too convenient." He looked from Edward, then to Emmett, wagging his brow. "And there have been _other _things." Both brothers shared a knowing look.

"So how do we sniff out the rat?" Emmett asked, hands in his pockets.

"In due time. I've already shared my suspicions with Eleazar. Share none of this with anyone else."

"…What about Jasper?" The Don eyed his eldest son with sympathy.

"I don't think it's him. He has nothing to gain by betraying us, and he's not stupid enough to open his mouth to outsiders. You can inform him, after he and Alice get back from their honeymoon." Emmett breathed a sigh of relief.

"Does this change anything?" Edward asked, arms folded.

"No. We'll proceed as planned. Any delays might tip off the traitor." He turned his seat around and got up, hand in his pocket as he walked to the window once more, admiring the night sky.

"Is there anymore business to attend to?" he asked softly, as he saw his only daughter sitting comfortably with his now son-in-law.

"No. Greene was the last of them," Emmett answered.

"Good." He sighed with relief and grabbed his dress jacket from the coat hanger. "Your mother's going to have a fit if I miss the whole reception," he said wryly, as he led the way out the door.

Outside, a gentle breeze caressed their clean shaven faces, and as though swept away by the same wind, the father separated from his children, quickly meeting with his wife, who he kissed on the cheek with a sheepish, "Sorry I'm late." Meanwhile, his grown sons joined their many…acquaintances in the gardens, their ties (or in Emmett's case, top shirt button.) finally loosened in the departure of the sun, Tuxedo jackets draped over chairs. Cigars were passed around, toasts were given, and as the night went on, hard-set, stressful scowls melted into relaxed, even playful smiles as old friends reminisced.

"So, Eleazar was just talking about your brother earlier," Todd remarked to Emmett, downing his glass of wine not a second after the words had come out of his mouth.

"Yeah? Did he mention anything about a thunderbolt?" Emmett asked slyly, throwing another look at Edward. He was currently leaning against a tree, cigarette in his mouth as he calmly listened to the brainless banter between Max and Ricky.

"As a matter of fact, yeah."

Emmett chuckled and threw another look at Bella, several feet away. She was currently trying to fend off another one of her star-struck suitors, it seemed. He wondered where Charles was. He knew for a fact he would ring the current boy's neck, and the others for good measure, if he knew what was happening.

"Hey, where's Charles?" he decided to ask Todd.

He shrugged. "Last I saw, he was speaking to Stefano."

It seemed some pushing would have to be in order. With that in mind, he walked over to where Max and Ricky were standing, smoothly becoming a part of their circle.

"—NO way in hell you slept with both of them."

"I kid you not."

"Fellas, fellas, calm down. There are plenty of fish in the sea," Emmett remarked to them. "Actually, if I'm not mistaken there are already plenty of fish in the surrounding area, if you haven't noticed."

Emmett's interjection startled Edward out of his brooding. The youngest son of the Don shot an angry glare at his brother, who proceeded to grin in response.

_You'll thank me for this one day brother, _Emmett thought to himself.

* * *

"Just one dance, that's all I ask," begged the insistent twerp.

"I'm clumsy," she answered.

"Oh c'mon, I'm sure you're fine," he said, wagging his brows in what he believed to be a seductive manner.

She rolled her eyes and let out a sigh, not that her current consort noticed. His eyes were drawn below, to her legs. She sipped her wine carefully, feeling the traitorous blush creep across her face, reflecting her discomfort.

It was night now, the midnight blue sky, dotted with sparkling stars, their new canopy. The party had just begun to die down, slow, melodic love songs gracing the air as opposed to the jaunty, up-beat concoctions cooked up in the May afternoon. Her periwinkle blue dress set off her creamy white skin perfectly, so much so, that now, to her displeasure, it was attracting the attention of the many single young men finally zeroing-in their surroundings in the absence of light.

She did not seek. She did not flaunt. She merely sat, observing with interest the workings of her Americanized counterparts. She had been in the states for over a year now, and yet she was still trying to absorb the differences in this strange, "modern" country.

She liked her privacy. It was not in her nature to force idle small-talk amongst strangers with vulgar agenda's. She would rather observe. Action's, after all, spoke louder than words. And yet, this clueless imbecile in front of her could not understand from her own body-language in response to him that she wanted to be left alone.

"You're a real dame you know that? Prettiest one here. If you don't want to dance, I can show you my car, I just got it back from the shop—"

"I doubt any lady would want to stomach that hunk of junk you call your car, Antoine," a dangerously soft voice said behind him. Flinching from his tone, Antoine turned, coming face to face with none other than the object of Isabella's affection.

Goosebumps prickled on Isabella's arms, be it because of the fury lurking beneath Edward's words, or by his mere presence, she did not know. She rose from her seat, anxiety making her hands shake as she watched Edward glare the miscreant into a trembling puddle of goo.

"I believe the lady has made it quite clear that she does not want to dance with _you_," Edward said icily, taking another step towards him until their noses were inches apart. "There are many more young ladies willing to tolerate your presence on the other side of the dance floor. I suggest you try your hand at propositioning _them_."

Taking the hint, Antoine swiftly excused himself and promptly left in favor of company not intent on reducing his face to a bloody pulp. It was mere seconds after his departure that Edward and Isabella realized they were alone. To his extreme embarrassment, he could not keep himself from looking at her. The distant observations he had made earlier did not do her justice in the least; he had forgotten how ethereal she looked, the moonlight making her skin acquire an almost luminescent glow, the innocence in her eyes…

The beginning of a new song behind them brought him out of his entranced state. He fixed his eyes firmly to the ground and cleared his throat, a polite, rough sound that conveyed his discomfort and awkwardness. With a slight nod of the head began to walk away.

"Wait!"

Her desperate plea shot a surge of electricity through his heart. Slowly he turned back to her. She blinked up at him, her trademark blush blooming across her face once more in shy intimidation. Her eyes fluttered to the ground.

"…Thank you…for what you did," she said to his shoes.

"…It was no problem," he muttered. She nodded, eyes still focused on his polished shoes. Before he could stop himself, his hand traveled to her face, fingers inches from her cheek before finally settling just under her chin, which he tilted up.

"There," he muttered. "Much better." They stared at each other for several more seconds, before he realized that their frozen forms were drawing attention.

"…Forgive me," he began, staring into her warm, chocolate irises, having yet removed his hand from underneath her chin, "but would you like to dance?"

She blinked rapidly, flustered and secretly thrilled by his offer. She felt her face heat with embarrassment, however, when she remembered how poor her dancing skills truly were.

"I'd love to…but I'm clumsy,' she murmured, fighting the urge to look away.

"It's all in the leading," he said softly, while his heart pounded in his chest, "and I won't let you fall."

Still holding his stare, she finally nodded yes. His hand fell away from her face as he gently led her to the dance floor, her heels clicking on the hard wood. She fought to keep her eyes from closing in pleasure as she felt the warmth from his body almost encompassing her own as he held her to him. Unconsciously she moved closer to him, the scent of his cologne filling her with a curious sense of calm she had not felt since before her mother passed. But she did not question it. For once, she just let herself be.

"I'm sorry…if my behavior offended you the first time we met," he said softly to her, a couple of minutes into their dance. He avoided her surprised gaze as he maneuvered her around the other couples, keeping his promise on not allowing her to fall.

"…I wasn't offended,' she said quietly, almost inaudibly. She was speaking to herself, not intending for him to hear her admission, her secret, but he heard. An overwhelming feeling of relief nearly bought him to his knees. He said nothing, though inside he repeated her words over and over, his hope growing. He allowed himself to look at her again, and the gnawing urge that began in the hallway days ago evolved, _grew_ into something more. As he stared at her lovely face, the mysteries surrounding her bombarded his mind. He knew the general story everyone knew; that Renee Swan had passed years before, leaving Isabella to the care of her father. But who was she? If she was friends with Alice, why didn't he know more about her? And most of all, _how_ could he not, in the past two years, have met her until days prior?

"Why haven't I seen you around?" he finally asked her. She looked at him curiously. "…Since you know Alice," he clarified.

"…I've only met your sister a handful of times. She and your mother helped me get settled when…when I first arrived. Last weekend was actually the first time I had been to your home," she said, a small smile playing on her lips.

"I see," he murmured. "And you've been here for a year?"

She nodded. "I don't go out much..."

"Not shopping?" he asked her teasingly, and she let out a small laugh.

"No, not shopping. I can't stand shopping…"

"So what do you like to do?"

"…Read…cook, walk around the city, but mostly read. I know, that seems quite boring and odd, what with my father, and what he does."

"What do you mean?" he asked her, perplexed this time. Charles had always seemed the introverted type anyway. Why would she think there were contrasts to either of them?

Unless…

"I'm not stupid Edward." she said quietly, a hint of annoyance in her tone. They danced in silence for several minutes, as he digested her admission. When the song finally ended, her hands parted from his, a look of awkwardness on her face as she made to leave, but instead, he took her back in his embrace and immersed themselves in another song.

"I never said you were. How long have you known, and how much?" he asked her in a whisper. He was not sure how open Charles was with Isabella, and there were people around, after all.

"…It's not that hard to put together…I don't know _everything._ My father knows how to hide things well, when he puts his mind to it…but I know enough."

"Like what?"

"Like that what he does for a living doesn't include a desk or pencil. That what he does keeps him out until 3 A.M on some days, and 5 P.M on others."

Edward blinked down at her in mild amazement. She was observant.

"And it doesn't bother you?"

She shrugged, shuffling closer to him as another couple made to leave the dance floor. Once again, she blushed at their close proximity. Edward couldn't help but smile.

"Don't be shy," he said softly, drawing her nervous gaze.

"I'm not shy," she said quietly. Her voice caught in her throat as he leaned down and his mouth ghosted over her ear.

"Yes, you are." His voice sent shivers down her spine.

"Fine…'" she murmured. "Maybe I am."

* * *

"Mall" refers to the the Cullen's estate and the surrounding houses that they own, which Bella and Charlie are currently staying in while James is out hunting.

_Gilda _is one of the main characters, played by Rita Hayworth, in the 1946 movie of the same name.

And before I forget...One of you pointed out that Cullen isn't an Italian last name. It's not a mistake, I promise you. The origins of the name will be revealed later on. If you recall, Corleone isn't Vito's real last name either :)

From here on out, updates for this story will be sporadic. My apologies...

Can you guess which members of the Corleone family each Cullen is loosely base on? ;)


End file.
